Change
by Flaignhan
Summary: Respect. Morals. Games. Pleasure. Three of those things, they share. On one of them they have a difference of opinion. TRHG
1. Respect

**A/N: **This is really very different to anything I've written before. I was going to have it as one piece but it became a bit of a mish mash so I decided to separate it into sections (the length doesn't really justify the use of the word 'chapters') and try and make it seem a little more organised. It's stemmed from wanting to write the Tom/Hermione interaction without having to go through all that Time Turner stuff. I just wanted a selection of short sharp snapshots as to how their relationship changes. Anyway, after that poor explanation, I now invite you to read, review, and most importantly, enjoy.

* * *

**Respect.**

* * *

The shallow part of her (and we're talking really, very shallow here) thinks it is a shame that he underwent all those magical transformations.

Try as she might, she had never been able to imagine Voldemort as a teenager. Similarly she had never been able to imagine Professor Dumbledore as a teenager, or Professor Flitwick. It's just _odd_.

She likes watching the way he writes. He's left handed. She'd never considered that he could be left handed before.

They sometimes sit together in the library. He doesn't mind the houses as such, more the qualities that those who belong to them tend to have.

Hermione's performance in class shows him that she is no fool, and so he is able to sit with her in the library, trading information and discussing magical theories.

One day, she decides to comment on his left handedness. "Left handed people live longer, apparently," she says.

Tom looks up at her, his eyes glinting, a thin smile curving his lips. "Is that so?"

"Apparently," Hermione says. "And apparently they're more creative."

"Do you think I'm creative?"

Hermione shrugs. "You're a man."

"Well spotted."

"Women live longer than men, is what I was going to say, if you'd have let me finish." The response isn't irritated, more jokey. She finds he brings out the humour in her, something which confuses her greatly because she should be terrified of him.

This is the man who will go on to kill so many people, but she doesn't consider that little titbit of information when she speaks to him. She considers how intelligent he is, and how she loves their conversations which can be deep or meaningless, fiery or relaxed. She considers that he really is quite handsome, once you get past that unsettling smirk. She realises that it's only unsettling because you don't know what he's thinking, whether he's laughing at you, planning to do something to you or whether it's something completely unrelated to you.

* * *

Foolish though it may be, she considers herself _safe_ with him. Some Hufflepuff girls had been giving her trouble outside Ancient Runes, telling her to go back to where she came from (she wishes she could) and making fun of her hair (thank goodness it's not as mad as it was when she was really small).

She does wonder whether she should just whip her wand out and jinx them all, but that would involve detention, and Professor Dippet isn't nearly as nice or understanding as Dumbledore is. (That's where she and Tom differ. She 'hero worships' Dumbledore and Tom can't stand it when a teacher doesn't fall for his 'charming arrogance'.)

"These dunces aren't troubling you are they, Miss Granger?" He's smooth and sophisticated, and she enjoys that. Especially when he's sticking up for her.

"Oh it's just girl's stuff, Tom," she says, "At this age you're considered a failure if you're not awfully shallow and horrid."

"Well I don't think any of you girls will be awfully shallow or horrid to Miss granger from now on, will you?" He's twirling his wand in his fingers and all three pairs of Hufflepuff eyes travel downwards to look at it.

"No Tom, of course not." They rush off, without looking back.

"Thanks," Hermione says.

"Don't worry, you'll just be forever in my debt from now."

Hermione smiles at the joke which is not actually a joke and is relieved when the door to the classroom opens.

He sits next to her. They nearly take each other's heads off when their hands shoot up into the air to answer a question before Professor Magnus has even finished asking it. Professor Magnus chuckles at the pair of them and makes a comment about Tom finally having met his match.

"Oh I doubt it very much," he says.

Hermione elbows him in the ribs. There is an audible gasp from some of their classmates, who cannot _believe_ that someone has just elbowed Tom, Tom Riddle, Tom Riddle the prefect, in the ribs.

"Arrogance isn't endearing, Tom," Hermione tells him, then dips her quill in her ink pot and makes some adjustments to her notes.

It's almost a chuckle that escapes his lips, but not quite.

She can tell he's impressed. Nobody ever stands up to him like that.

* * *


	2. Morals

**Morals.**

* * *

The bathroom seems different without Moaning Myrtle. It seems like every other bathroom in the school.

She waits there, in the evenings. She waits for him to work it out, to find the taps with the tiny engraved snakes on them.

She walks in on him one evening. He's studying the taps and looks up at the sound of footsteps.

"The taps in the boy's bathroom are broken," he says calmly, "I needed to wash my hands."

"Don't lie to me Tom."

"Why else do you think I'd be in the girl's bathroom? Not for the social scene, surely?" He looks around at the empty bathroom and laughs.

"Just leave it, will you Tom?"

"Leave what?" he asks sharply.

"It's a slippery slope to self destruction," she tells him. "Just leave it alone."

"I don't know what you mean."

"It wasn't _noble work_! It was sick! Pathetic!"

"You're muggleborn, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Dangerous, letting slip that sort of thing when you know what's down there."

"I've survived it before."

"You know what it is?" Tom asks, suddenly breathless with excitement.

"You don't? I'm disappointed, Tom."

"Hermione, tell me!"

She leaves the bathroom, ignoring his demands that she tells him what's down there. She wonders if the curiosity will scare him away or cause him to make the leap sooner.

Probably the latter, but she doesn't see what she can do.

He doesn't sit next to her in Transfiguration the following day.

* * *

Myrtle. Poor Myrtle. Poor moaning moping ugly spotty four eyed Myrtle.

After dinner, which was quiet and had an overbearing atmosphere of fear, she drags Tom into an empty classroom, much to his dismay.

"You_ bastard!_"

He slaps her, and she realises the insult must sting more with him than it does with others.

"Don't. Call. Me. That."

"I'm sorry," she says weakly, "I didn't mean -" she doesn't know what to say, and wonders why she's apologising. Perhaps because she feels sorry for him, having the childhood that he did. Does.

"I have steered clear of you so far, Granger. I could take a detour next time."

"I've survived that basilisk before, I can do it again. You don't scare me, Tom." Lies. "They're going to close the school. You'll have to go back to the orphanage, for good. You'll have to get a muggle job and live in the muggle world in a muggle house and wear muggle clothes. Ironic, no?"

"Shut up!"

"You're such a hypocrite, Tom. You're not even pureblood yourself!"

He slaps her again.

"Do that, just one more time," she threatens.

"Why? Do you enjoy it? Is that what makes you tick?" He walks towards her, backing her into the wall.

His body is so close to hers but not even touching. That's the painful part of it. She wants them to be touching, because that half inch between them feels like a mile, and she doesn't know _why_ she wants to be that close to a man who has just killed an innocent student that afternoon but he's just intoxicating.

His mouth moves closer to her own, and she can feel his breath on her face. She moves her lips towards his and his hands caress her face, then hold her head steady.

"How sick are you," he murmurs into her mouth, his eyes boring into her own, "wanting to fuck a murderer?"

He moves away from her, mechanically, almost robotically, and he turns away, heading out of the door, leaving Hermione looking quite dishevelled, her heart racing with a mixture of fear and anticlimax.

* * *


	3. Games

**Games.**

* * *

He starts sitting next to her in lessons again. His hand brushes her leg as he puts his satchel under the table, and when he whispers things to her (not sweet nothings you understand, it's always to do with the work - and that kills her but makes her breath catch in her chest at the same time) she is very conscious of his lips grazing her ear just slightly, enough so it's noticeable, but not so much that it actually means something.

In bed at night, Hermione wonders what the fuck could have possibly happened to her to make her lust after Lord bloody Voldemort. He's handsome, but he's also a cruel, nasty little boy with ideas above his station.

She thinks it's the intelligence. She's always longed for a man she can talk to (the complete opposite of Viktor, then) and she can talk to Tom. His voice is attractive too. Smooth, well spoken, and he doesn't need to shout to get people's attention. She envies him that. He merely has to speak at a reasonable volume and every single person is hanging off of every single word.

Tom looks at her from the Slytherin table at meal times. He catches her gaze, holds it for a second too long, and then discards it slowly (it is the slowness that gets her) as he turns to talk to one of his housemates.

* * *

He sits down at her table in the library. She chooses to ignore him.

"Hello to you too."

She doesn't answer and she knows he is smirking, deciding that he has found himself a challenge.

Her quill moves quickly across the parchment, her handwriting becoming messier and messier. For the first time in her life, neatness takes a back seat because she wants to get out of there as fast as she bloody well can but she is determined to finish her essay. She has to - it's due tomorrow and she can't take the books she is using out of the library, she's not allowed.

A bare foot - she wonders how he's managed to remove his shoe and sock without any visible movement - starts to trace a pattern on her calf.

"Tom -"

It moves up to her knee.

"Tom -"

He's still writing his stupid fucking essay and his foot is now moving onto her thigh.

"For fuck's sake, Tom!" she hisses, "People can see!"

"Is that the only issue then? Privacy?"

Hermione stands abruptly, almost knocking her chair over. She grabs the books, her essay, quill, and ink and moves to another table where one of her fellow Gryffindors is sitting, working on the same essay.

"You all right, Hermione?"

"Yeah…" Hermione answers, seeing Tom's smirk out of the corner of her eye and hating him for winning that particular game. "How are you getting on with your essay? I found these books which were quite useful, you can use them if you like."

Lisa smiles at her in thanks and pulls one of the books towards her.

"Page 394," Hermione tells her.

"Thanks," Lisa says, glancing momentarily at Tom when she thinks that Hermione is preoccupied with her essay.

* * *

She tries to work out what's going on but fails miserably. Tom Riddle, from all that she's heard, has never been interested in anything but power, and dark magic.

Maybe he wants to have power over her.

No. Power's part of it, but he's after her for his own pleasure as well.

Hormones. That's why he's interested now but the Voldemort she knows, and that Harry knows, isn't. He hasn't got raging hormones, he's just got rage. A nice simple answer as to why Tom Riddle is so very different from Lord Voldemort. Biology, that's always a good basis for an answer in Hermione's book.

* * *

Hermione's bag rips, and her books drop to the ground with a loud and echoing thud. Her ink pot is smashed, the nib of her quill bent and her homework diary is doing the job of absorbing all the spilled ink.

She swears (Tom has brought out the words that she used to scold Harry and Ron for using) and gets down on her knees to clear up the mess.

She hears footsteps on the stone staircase a few feet behind her and only looks up when she sees a pair of legs in front of her.

"You all right there?"

"Go away Tom."

He uses his wand to siphon all of the ink from the floor and out of her homework diary and for that she is grateful, but she won't say so.

Before he goes, he bends down, pulls her head gently towards him so he is able to whisper in her ear and says "I like seeing you on your knees."

She is shocked to say the least, and mildly offended.

She also knows she won't last much longer.

* * *


	4. Pleasure

**Pleasure.**

* * *

She grabs onto his hair, squeezing it tightly as he kisses her ferociously, almost violently, crushing her into the wall. There is little time for breathing and she pulls his school shirt off of him. The rest of his clothes follow quickly, as do hers, and she wonders how he knows exactly where to touch her. It's not legilimency, because they don't make eye contact for the whole time, but it's something unusual.

That first time he fucks her, in one of the dungeons near the Slytherin common room, he fucks her hard and he fucks her fast. It's over quickly and she finds herself trying to regain her breath whilst biting at the part of his body which isn't quite neck but also isn't quite shoulder, her hand still twisted in his hair.

She wonders what Harry would say if he knew, and suddenly she feels disgusting. She disentangles herself from him and the pair of them dress in silence. He leaves while she's still trying to make her hair vaguely presentable.

* * *

He bends her over the desk and she clenches her fists in anticipation. She moans as he enters her and he fucks her just as hard as he fucked her last time. Just as hard as he fucks her every time.

His hands are clutching onto her hips tightly and she knows he's enjoying himself as much as she is.

Sex, to Hermione, had always been part of a relationship. It wasn't something that she thought she'd ever seek out, especially when she isn't even properly involved with the other person. But, she spends her evenings meeting Tom in prearranged places and getting thoroughly ravished by him.

She stopped feeling guilty and disgusting a long time ago. Now she just craves that he fucks her as hard as he possibly can.

She's not even sure that she wants to go back to where she came from, because nobody there could possibly match this.

* * *

In lessons, he touches her when people aren't looking. Just a hand on the thigh, that sort of thing, but sometimes, especially in Charms where there are long table cloths hiding any under-the-table activity, (they're actually there to hide all the damage the tables have accumulated over the years) he goes further, and it is all Hermione can do to remain silent.

She hates feeling like his slave, like he's in control of her, and so one day, when the class is getting a head start on the essay that was set for their homework, she reaches under the table and starts to touch him. It's nothing at first, just dragging her fingers along his thigh. She very much enjoys the deep breath that he inhales, trying to concentrate on his essay. She's still writing her own, multi-tasking like nobody's business.

She can feel him getting hard and it's her who smirks this time. She surprises herself with her audacity and reaches into his trousers, and wonders if anybody hears him gasp.

It only takes five seconds of gentle teasing before he loses it and shoots a spell into the air.

"Time freezing charm," he tells her.

"How did you manage that?"

"I'm fucking brilliant, now hurry up and finish me off."

Hermione looks cautiously around her frozen classmates, wondering how long the charm will last, and how long Tom will.

"Hermione!"

She grins and gets to work.

When the class unfreezes, it is strange, knowing that she and Tom have just experienced time outside of time.

She wants to do it more often.

* * *

"Hermione, for fuck's sake." It's rare that he loses his composure, but as she paces back and forward in front of the bare patch of wall, he becomes more impatient by the second.

The door to the room of requirement appears and Hermione tugs it open, Tom following her inside. She can tell by the look on his face that he's half enraged because she knows more about Hogwarts than he does and half curious about what will be on the other side of the door.

It's a bed. Just a normal bed with dark blue bedcovers. Hermione shuts the door behind Tom and he grins, turning the key in the lock before putting his hands on her waist and pushing her back onto the bed.

"Say my name," he breathes into her ear.

"Tom," she breathes back, the word muffled against the skin of his shoulder.

"No, 'Lord Voldemort'."

"No." Hermione says sharply. They stop.

"Please."

Hermione shakes her head.

He kisses her neck, making her gasp. His kisses lead up to her ear. "What about 'my Lord'?" His hands roam over her body and he continues to kiss her neck, slowly building up a rhythm again.

"Hermione please."

She gives in and whispers it in his ear. He moans in arrogant ecstasy and she soon forgets about it because despite the weirdness, the sex is still so fucking good.

* * *

It becomes a much more frequent request. 'My Lord' she can cope with, but 'Lord Voldemort' makes it real, and it makes it sick.

He doesn't understand why. Of course he doesn't. He keeps pressuring her to say it and she's running out of excuses. He starts getting angry with her and she knows that she has to get out.

She has to get out because now he has stopped being Tom Riddle, and started being Lord Voldemort.

* * *

**The End. **


End file.
